


Carving Out A Place

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [25]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Thanksgiving on The Riptide and everyone has something to be grateful for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carving Out A Place

**Author's Note:**

> For LJ Pier56 Challenge 6, Thanksgiving.  
> And the football game is legit for Thanksgiving Day, 1986.  
> 

"I'm surprised you didn't want to go home for Thanksgiving," Cody said as he shoved the turkey breast into the oven. Murray shrugged, nicked his finger with the paring knife, and dropped the potato into the sink. He put his finger in his mouth and shrugged again.

"You okay, Boz?"

"I think so," he said, grinning sheepishly as he examined his finger, then stuck it under the cold tap. "I wanted to, but the lieutenant didn't feel up to spending a holiday weekend on their turf, and we didn't want to leave you guys alone. Nick isn't much help to you yet."

"You won't be, either, if you cut your finger off."

"It's okay. It's stopped bleeding already." Murray turned the water down to a trickle and picked up the potato again. He and Quinlan had been up half the night getting things ready at home, knowing that it was impossible to make a proper feast in the tiny galley. They'd baked three pies, made candied yams, fruit salad and rum cake with hard icing. All that was left was the mashed potatoes and stuffing, which would be made on the stove top, and rolls that would be heated in the oven once the turkey came out.

"I bet your folks are missing you, though."

"I know, but what could I do? I told my mom what happened to Nick, and she just couldn't stand the idea of you making dinner all by yourself, with him in that condition."

"You get your soft heart from your mom, don't you?" Cody teased.

"I guess. But she says that if we don't go over there for Christmas, they're all going to come out here."

"Is that a threat or a negotiation?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, is she saying that to make you guys go, or will they be just as happy out here? Because if they were to come out, then we could all be together and that would be—nice. I'm not trying to guilt you or anything. Nick will be off the crutches by then and we'll find some way to amuse ourselves, but we like spending Christmas with you. And it'll be our first with Ted."

"Yeah, last year doesn't really count, does it?" Murray said with a rueful half-laugh.

"Man, I'd have given anything not to have that happen right at Christmas. We really hated seeing it ruin your holiday."

"Yeah, well…I'll—I'll talk to Mom and Dad and see if they'd mind. I'm going to call them this evening and say happy Thanksgiving. I need to find out if they've heard from Baba lately, anyway."

"Is she still in Argentina?"

"Peru, and yes. For the rest of the year, I think. That's what I feel bad about. Since she's not there, I probably should've been. But Uncle Mike and Aunt Mary, and Uncle Elmo and Aunt Jean are going, so they won't be alone."

"That's good, but it's not the same as seeing your kids."

Murray sighed and began slicing the peeled potatoes into the pot.

"That's what's bothering me. I'll make sure we're together for Christmas, even if we have to go to Chicago."

"Even if you have to go alone?"

"Ted won't make me do that. Actually, he might not _let_ me. I don't think I'm allowed to travel halfway across the country alone anymore."

"That's really cute," Cody grinned. "Come on, let's go see what our menfolk are up to."

They went up to the salon where Nick and Quinlan were watching the football game, drinking their first beers of the day and laughing quietly together.

It was three weeks since Nick threw himself haphazardly across the hood of Dennis Burke's Datsun 210 and got his leg broken for his trouble, and most of the lingering feeling of stupidity had drained away by now. He'd been up on crutches for a few days now, walking only when necessary to keep the stress off his shoulder, and letting Cody help him up and down the stairs. It wasn't so bad with a crutch under his right arm and Cody's strong hands on his left side. Quinlan had taught him a lot about the worthlessness of pride and he was trying to let it go, at least in private.

"How're you doing, babe?" Cody asked, bending down to kiss him.

"I'm okay. LT and I are just watching the Cowboys get their asses handed to them."

"Yeah, by Seattle," Quinlan laughed. "It's unholy."

"And listening to you guys talk about Christmas. Chicago, huh?" Nick teased, but there was a note of concern underneath.

Murray winced, his eyes darting about as if seeking an answer.

"It's okay, kid. You want to see your folks, I'll go with you," Quinlan shrugged.

"I'm going to invite them out here. I'd rather have everyone together if I can." He nudged Quinlan with his knee to make him move over, and still ended up sitting half in his lap. Nick had one of the rattan chairs, his broken leg up on the bench, and Cody pulled another chair over beside him.

"You'll have the cast off by then, won't you?" Murray asked.

"I think so. It'll be cutting it close, but I might make it. It doesn't matter, though. My shoulder's healing up just fine, so I won't have any trouble getting around."

"So you wouldn't mind coming over to the house for Christmas? It wouldn't be too—festive—for you?"

"No, Murray, I think I can handle some festivities. Just this once." He was smiling at Quinlan, who winked at him from behind Murray's shoulder, and Murray thought the smile was for him. In a way, it was.

"Oh, shit, look at that," Cody groaned, pointing at the TV. "The frigging Cowboys fumbled."

"Tell me you didn't put money on them," Quinlan smirked.

"What was I supposed to do, bet on the Seahawks?"

"It _is_ more traditional to support the teams closer to your home town, isn't it?" Murray asked. "Seattle is closer to us than Dallas."

"Sure, but anyone can be a Cowboys fan," Cody explained. "And they've been having a decent season."

"Seven and five?" Nick scoffed. "You call that decent?"

"Better year than you've had."

"Come on, boys, let's don't get personal," Quinlan said, sounding bored. "If you can't watch TV nicely, I'll have to change the channel."

"Oh, can we watch the parade? I got to see it in person one year, when I was living in Baltimore. A bunch of us took the train to New York and we stood outside all day, waving at the floats. It was so boss. In fact—"

Ted grabbed a handful of Murray's unkempt hair, pulled his head down, and silenced him with a kiss that made him blush.

"Thanks," Nick said, returning to the game.

"No problem," he grinned, releasing the fistful of hair and letting his hand rest on the back of Murray's neck. Murray looked a little stunned and didn't mention the parade again.

As the game was ending, with the Cowboys hopelessly behind, Murray and Cody set the table and began bringing up the food. Quinlan offered to help, but there wasn't room in the galley or on the stairs for three.

"Stay where you are, Lieutenant," Murray said. "We'll have it in a minute. Cody, don't forget the jam and butter."

"He lives to serve," Quinlan whispered to Nick, who was taking a drink and snorted beer painfully through his nose.

"I bet he does," he said, reaching for a napkin.

"Who does what?" Murray asked, appearing on the stairs with the bowl of potatoes in his hands.

"Nothing, kid. Ryder's just giving me shit."

"I bet he was," Murray said, with a wink that told them he'd missed nothing.

"Are we going to be traditional," Cody asked, setting the turkey platter in the center of the table, "and tell each other what we're thankful for?" He sat down, edging his chair a little closer to Nick's, and looked at the smiling faces around the table. Murray slid onto the bench beside Quinlan, giving him a shy, questioning smile. Quinlan squeezed his hand under the table and raised his eyes to their friends.

"I don't really think we have to."

"He's right," Nick said with a wink. "Why don't you carve the turkey, Cody? I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starving."


End file.
